


The Last Prince of Cardolan

by Serenade



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Backstory, Barrow-downs, Extra Treat, Gen, Supernatural Elements, ToT: Monster Mash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/pseuds/Serenade
Summary: The green downs hold many secrets.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



The Prince gazed out over the walls of his fortress, over the green downs that the sunset painted red. His glance kept straying east along the Great Road. No sign yet of his men returning. They had gone scouting the hills, following reports of shadowy strangers. Perhaps outlaws and brigands, easily driven off. Perhaps something more.

In his heart of hearts, he had wanted to go with his men, but he knew where his duty lay. Since the death of his father, he had taken up the mantle of rule, and it was his place to command, not to follow his own whims.

He wished his men had taken the talismans with them. They lay in the vaults of the treasury: golden circlets, and golden chains, and rings set with jewels of many colours. They were ancient, imbued with protective enchantments. They could warn of danger and shield against sorcery, like the dark powers of Angmar. But his captain had said, "You do us too much honour. These are the heirlooms of your house. They are best kept safe, for your sons and their sons."

They had been gone three days and three nights without word. Where were they? If only he had one of the Seeing Stones, like the one in the Tower on Amon Sul. But if he possessed one, he would not have needed to send out scouts in the first place.

The sun sank below the horizon, shadow falling over the downs. Clouds passed over the moon, darkening the sky. And a lone figure appeared on the road, heading this way. His pulse quickened. As it drew closer, he saw it was a man, but not one of his companions. Still, this man might have word of them.

As he sent his guards to open the gate, he wondered if he were being wise. There were strange matters afoot. But he was a Prince of Cardolan, one of the three kingdoms heir to Arnor, and a descendant of Elendil and Isildur. Should he be afraid of a lone traveller in his own hall?

The guards escorted the man inside. An ordinary looking fellow, bundled in a thick cloak for travelling. Not a farmer, not a merchant. Perhaps a tradesman of some sort. He was garbed strangely, the cut of his clothes unfamiliar, the pattern of the weave unusual.

"Welcome, traveller," the Prince said. "I offer you the hospitality of my house."

The man looked about in a daze. "Begging your pardon, sir, but what is this place?"

"Why, you are in the fortress of Cardolan. I am its lord."

"Cardolan," the man repeated. "I think I must be lost."

"Have you seen anyone else on the road? A band of warriors?"

The man shook his head.

The Prince had servants bring out platters of meat and bread, but the man only took a few desultory bites, without much appetite. He seemed ill at ease, perhaps unused to dining with royalty. The Prince did not press him to eat, but instead asked for news of his travels. "From whence do you hail?"

"I am Jerome, from the town of Bree."

He had not heard of it. "Is it far from here?"

"No, sir. Just on the other side of the downs."

"Indeed?" He knew all the towns of any size in the three kingdoms. Perhaps it was a mere village or hamlet whose status he exaggerated. Or perhaps he sought to deceive. Although it seemed risky to contrive a lie so easily found out.

Jerome spoke of the autumn market, where he plied his trade as a weaver. "I tarried there too long today, and took a short cut across the downs."

"You took a risk, travelling in the dark. This is not Gondor, where the King keeps the peace." He watched Jerome closely, and saw an involuntary flinch. He went on. "Arnor is divided, and a dozen petty dukedoms quarrel over petty borders." But they still had an alliance. They still remembered. The strength of Arnor stood against Angmar.

At last, Jerome pushed his plate away. His food was hardly touched. "Thank you kindly, sir. I think I'd best be on my way home."

Why was he in such haste to leave? What traveller would refuse an offer of shelter on such a night as this? Unless he were a spy from Angmar, sent to report on their defences.

"Stay," the Prince said. "This is not an hour fit for travel. Rest here until morning." By morning, his men might have returned. By morning, he might have answers.

Jerome shuffled to his feet. He was pale and sweating. "I don't think I should."

"Why not?" No answer. "Who are you really? A servant of the Witch-king?"

Jerome shook his head, swallowing. "The Witch-king of Angmar is a fairytale to scare children. There is no King in Gondor, not for a thousand years. And I have never heard of Cardolan."

His words echoed in the silence, like a death knell.

At that moment, moonlight pierced the clouds. The air wavered in a shimmering haze. Walls vanished. Guards vanished. Servants vanished. The feast was nothing but leaves and sticks. And this was not the great hall of the fortress, but a tomb.

The Prince looked down at his hands. They were gaunt and skeletal, little more than skin on bone. He was shrouded in a white burial robe, and bedecked with the treasures of the realm. He lifted his head. Jerome took one look at his face and fled.

The Prince rose to his feet, clinking with gold as he moved. He staggered out through a stone doorway. Nothing but green mounds and broken walls. Cardolan was gone. Despair clutched at his heart. For a moment, he saw the stones blackened with blood and fire, and felt the flash of a spear pass through him.

And his lost companions, where were they? Still wandering the hills, until they fulfilled their final mission? Or had they died in his defence, laying down their lives for their prince? He had to find them and bring them home. This time, he would adorn them with talismans, so that all might know he honoured them for their loyalty and courage, and protected them as a lord should protect his people.

"Here I am," he whispered into the night. "I am waiting for you."


End file.
